no kingdom to come
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: "For all the ways in which the Red Keep is supposed to generate – and retain – warmth, her chambers are freezing and Cersei realises that she's grown unused to sleeping alone once again."


**Notes: There's... not really any plot to this fic other than 'my faves are sad and so am I'. Title taken from Hozier's _No Plan_ which also serves as soundtrack given the apocalyptic acceptance vibe it gives me.**

**No, I mean it, this is all essentially angst and character study to the point where it's more meta than actual fic, but it needed an outlet (both my angst and the frustration of the way a lot of the fandom has read Cersei's actions/emotions in the last episode) and now that I've stayed up specifically to finish it, it doesn't feel right to let it die in my one-shot folder before this show has even ended, so... here it is, I suppose. If it's any help, I think I might have something a little cheerier for this ship in the next few days as Camp NaNo continues. Since FFN doesn't really have warning tags, general warning for dubious consent, plenty of pregnancy mentions/symbolism, as well as mentions of self-harm. I think it's a pretty exhaustive list, but still, proceed with caution.**

**As always, I hope this is enjoyable and feedback is always welcome! ^^**

* * *

For all the ways in which the Red Keep is supposed to generate – and retain – warmth, her chambers are _freezing_.

She's grown unused to sleeping alone once again, Cersei realises once she's finally left in peace, not without a twinge of irritation and not for the first time since she'd been in a position to do it again. If she had only been more cautious before, if she'd sent her brother back to his own rooms every night, he wouldn't have protested, she should have—

But it's too late to be worrying about Jaime now – too late at night and too late _in general_, so many days after his departure. And this is a really unfortunate time to be considering this at all, come to think of it, since the cold is not all that bad when compared to everything else wrong with her. There's plenty of it to take into account; contradictions piling up on top of one another. Her skin is still feverishly hot from the bath she'd had (she'd requested it hot enough to burn her clean, but had waited until it had cooled off some instead – it would be irresponsible and for the fourth time in her life, irresponsible is something she can't afford to be), but she's shivering all the same. She's starving and nauseous and, even though she's tired to the bone, Cersei can't force herself to keep still. The covers smother what little fresh air has found its way in, but she can't throw them off – not with winter creeping in despite the unbearable heat of the enormous fireplace.

Most of all, she can't quite find a place that feels even remotely comfortable in a room she's been calling her home for years and it makes a frightening amount of sense. She remembers, suddenly, the frantic prayers she'd sent in the gods's direction all those years ago after the loss of her mother and how real it had all looked at the time. They'd seemed all-powerful then, entirely capable of reversing death from where they stood, those giants of stone watching her with their lifeless eyes, and even when her father had dragged her out of that particular illusion, she had been more than a little jealous of them; of the way they had always stood just out of reach, distant and incomprehensible and _untouchable_. Now, many years later, it's still there – the urge to claw her way out of this skin, push and pull and peel at it until there's nothing left of her body and it's just _her_, raw and loud and fragile as if she'd been born all over again. See who'd dare touch her then.

It's no use imagining any of that, of course. She'd been sick once already tonight, just after Greyjoy had left (it had been a close thing and while it'd had nothing to do with him, the possibility of him recognising the symptoms for what they were – or seeing her unwell at all –had bothered her too much for her to not immediately send him away), and while blood and skin being stripped off of bones aren't usually difficult to picture, it'd do her well to remember that for the time being, she's not her body's only occupant. It had always been a grounding thought before, reminding herself that someone relies on her enough for her to need to keep herself safe for them and although it doesn't stop her from feeling caged, it makes any cage far easier to handle. The child is all she thinks about when everything else gets unbearable – if for nothing else, she needs to survive for the child. She'd hung onto that last, lone thread for hours while entertaining her _betrothed_, eyes resolutely set on the canopy above his shoulder while she'd endured the consequences of the deal she had made. She had been the one to agree to it and it's stupid, so stupid, to feel like this now; to feel—

_No_. It's not something she can allow, even if it's only a fleeting thought. She's a queen now; she can't be violated in the same way she'd considered herself before. The feeling had been humiliating enough then and it's far worse now that she's supposed to be above it already. It's another thing that she's almost forgotten how to endure, Cersei supposes; selling off bits and pieces of herself to ensure her continuing survival. The necessity had followed her through her entire life and she'd naively assumed that a crown would purge her of it.

It hadn't been entirely unfounded – for a few blissful months, her new position had been enough. Her reign hadn't precisely started in peace and her grief for Tommen had followed her the entire time, but she had had the choice to do and live and love as she'd pleased with the only person left who had still mattered. The inevitable war had scared her, there's no denying that, but she had been as close to being happy as she'd ever got, the unexpected gift of another child and Jaime's joy at the news making everything else, no matter how terrible, pale in comparison. For a handful of days – right before the Dragon Pit and everything that had followed – not even the threat of their imminent demise had been enough to cloud the sun shining over her, doubled by the knowledge that Jaime had felt the same. It had all warmed her more than she's ready to admit and that had been enough to make the cold that had followed that much worse.

She closes her eyes tight now, tight enough that they sting, as if it'll help any with chasing the memories away. _Of course_. All roads seem to lead back to Jaime, one way or another.

She can't help but wonder where he must be by now. It's unlikely that he's reached Winterfell already, but it must be a close thing. He's bound to be even colder than she is and the thought is nowhere near as comforting as she had hoped it would be. They'd slept apart before, many times, but with the finality of the last time they'd seen each other, she had been rather looking forward to being rid of the everlasting, ever so stubborn dependence on him that she'd developed too many years ago to clearly remember the moment it had first taken shape. It's yet to go anywhere and every thought of the future in any shape or form is as haunting as her memories, never failing to make her sight mist with the tears that she can't afford to give in to.

Resisting is about the only thing she can do, if she's honest with herself – crying has never helped anyone and Cersei wraps the furs even tighter around herself, resolutely ignoring the many ways her body and mind protest the idea of sleep. It's so devastatingly _lonely_ this time around and she's used to it, she's worked hard to dull the sensation down to what it is now, desperate to forget what it had been like _before_. She had never truly been alone before when she'd closed her eyes, ever since the day she'd drawn her first breath; ever since conception itself. Separation, tension and numerous arguments, each more absurd than the last, had always taken a toll on both her and her twin, but she had always had the reassurance of another heartbeat next to hers, distant as it might have been. It's still there now, distant and heavy and poisoned with far too much grief and betrayal and frustration to be of any help at all. _We're the only two people in the world_, she'd told him once – many times, really, and with too many different words for her to count – and it still, _still_ holds true, as vile as it is. The gap left behind is almost worse than the act itself these days. Her brother is a traitor and a coward and she should have had him killed right then and there and the world is intolerably empty without him.

But he's not the only one left; not anymore. There's one more of them to think about now and for now, at least, it helps keep the worst parts of her mind from raising their heads just yet. It's one more thing to worry about; more than anything else, sleep means _dreaming_ and that's never something to look forward to, but the lack of it is doubtlessly worse. She's the queen and she's _pregnant_ and being distracted and exhausted might as well be suicide and she forces herself to make an effort regardless of the cost. This room – this _bed_ – is as warm as it's going to get and when Cersei finally falls asleep, she dreams of the best kind of pain she's ever known (it's _shared_ in this vision and it makes sense – she's never done this alone before) and the distant, half-fact, half-hope promise of spring.

The North is as filthy and miserable as the last time Jaime had bothered coming here and the similarities are comforting, somehow, even if all the differences littering the landscape of his mind make his head spin as he wraps himself as tightly into the thin bed sheets as he can.

His bed, for one – a cot, really, and not much more – is a significantly more uncomfortable affair than what the Court had been able to afford on its travels. It's awfully dull too – he's all but alone in this entire building, from what he can tell, and it should suit him just fine. He had definitely prayed for some peace and quiet the last time they'd been on the Kingsroad, what with Robert's massive entourage and the ceaseless arguments that the children had insisted on having, usually right in front of his door as if he had in any way implied that he could be the voice of reason in their arguments.

The children squabbling, of course, had meant that Cersei would eventually come along to berate them for the impropriety and Jaime had never missed the opportunity to use that as an excuse to keep her near for a while. Tommen and Myrcella had never minded being left alone to their own devices and hadn't paid much attention to what their mother was doing once she left their presence and it had been the three of them – even Joffrey, sometimes, as much as Jaime had tried to avoid him – that had made the entire debacle a little more bearable. In the end, their travel North had bred nothing but trouble, but even now, he can't think of the initial trip with anything but a fond sort of annoyance.

So in retrospect, it isn't at all surprising that he's finding the place a bit uneventful. Had Cersei been here, he would have been treated to yet another monologue on how bad the accommodations are – she had never fared too well in the cold – and the thought makes him smile before he can help himself. For all her strength, it's always the little annoyances that get to her more than anything; the things she can easily ignore being voiced instead of whatever the underlying issue is. She had always been unbearable during winter for that very reason, and back then it had all made him, impossibly, love her that little bit more than before. His sister had always been so _strong_, hiding everything she'd thought she couldn't say behind a layer of everyday mundane complaints, insignificant and somehow soothing when compared to the secret they carried with them every step of the way; the weight of her life and her marriage and her _everything_. It had all disappeared when they'd been together and after Robert's death (as well as their father's, not that Cersei would have ever taken well to _that_ being spoken aloud), it had been easier to get lost in it than ever before.

In all honesty, in just their last year together, Jaime had felt the bond between them, strained over years of secrecy and the ever-present threat of discovery hanging over their heads, strengthen all over again. He's much more sceptical now that it's marred by his bitterness, but it had certainly felt that way at the time. As much as it had worried him at certain points, Cersei's utter disregard for _the people _and what they did or didn't think once she'd got her crown had also elated him and, in a way, had freed them both to a degree that their previous caution would have never allowed.

It makes sense, now, that it hadn't been allowed to continue for long. Cersei had spent too many years scheming her way into survival to give up on it now and he would have understood - _had_ understood, Seven Hells take them both, even if he hadn't made it known - if she hadn't tried to make a fool out of him in the process. The off-handed revelation about Euron Greyjoy's involvement, as well as the fact that she hadn't bothered telling him what she'd been about to do, had been enough of an outrage for him to leave without a moment's hesitation, impulsive and ill-thought as it had been. Her intimidation had done nothing but urge him on, especially once he'd seen her hesitate.

It's madness to even think that she'd do the opposite, of course. She's _Cersei. _The fact that she'd threatened him at all had been a surprise, but it would have never gone further than that; he had known that much then and still does now. She hadn't hurt him, not even _Tyrion_, not even after everything that had happened between them all and here, nearly a month later, Jaime's endless stream of boiling anger has cooled down into bewildered betrayal. It _is_ rather obvious, in hindsight. King's Landing and the throne are as good a last stand as any she's got and wanting her army on hand in case she needs to flee – or, in the case of an unlikely survival of the Dragon Queen beyond the Wall, another war – and keeping Greyjoy's ships on hand is going to be more help than anything or anyone else could offer her if the unbelievable disease that Jon Snow had shown them that day in the Dragon Pit happened to spread through the realm.

It's a gruesome image – it had been ever since he'd first heard it mentioned, many years ago when he'd still been a child and even more so once it had come to life in front of him, dragged out from death by a force that no one can understand. The thought chills him to the bone and he's nowhere near the point of fighting any of them yet and as much as he hates it, he can _see_ the way it had happened; can see the precise moment that had turned any patience his sister had had for the quest for proof that this meeting had been supposed to represent into the cold, hard resolution to stay as far away from it as possible. The fact that she'd thought that he'd give up on his word so easily _stings_, but not as much as the realisation that she'd included him in her plans without a second thought; without a moment's hesitation of how things would go. The pain of the lie is visceral even now and it feels echoed, doubled somewhere between his own shock and Cersei's disbelief in the face of his decision. He can almost see her – she must be getting ready for bed somewhere around now, he thinks, and the image is the only shred of warmth in this entire cursed world. The fact that it comes hand in hand with the knowledge that he isn't particularly likely to ever witness such a sight again serves to make it even brighter, much to his dismay, and he closes his eyes in effort to chase the images away. This isn't what he needs right now, it's never been what he's needed; seeing _her_ in pain has never helped any.

Still, it's _something_. He's not awfully prepared where his next steps are concerned, but at least there's something more to it than dying in a war in an effort to keep his word now that he has the idea of living to tell the tale taking root in his mind. And, Jaime concedes dazedly as sleep finally takes its due, if nothing else, latching onto seeing his sister one last time – even if she's furious, even if it costs him his life, as long as it's not the same as what he's just left behind – is the only reason to keep himself alive that he's always thought more sacred than any vow ever made.


End file.
